"Wrap a car around a light post," he answers. "Set something on fire and throw glass at it until I can't move. Raze this place to the fucking ground."
None of it will accomplish anything but it doesn't matter. Everything inside him feels fit to burst and it has to get out somehow. The dragon helped, but it isn't enough. He needs to explode.
"That's all very dramatic for a guy who left you," Nick says baldly, his eyebrows up. "Come on. We're going to do a spell," he tells him, getting up, reaching for Kavinsky's hand. "Ritual magic."
"Aw, you'll make me blush," he says, and he takes K to the bedroom, to the foot of the bed.
He looks around and finds things; odds and ends of life, underwear, pills, an empty bottle of beer. "We're going to create a beast out of your anger to eat your grief. So you can get some sleep, after we fuck."
Kavinsky watches Nick collect bits of himself from various places in the room, wondering exactly how the magic works. His anger is good for a lot of things, most of all consuming. Maybe that's not a bad way to use it.
He pulls a piece of chalk, thick and white, out of his pocket. "You sit there, right in the middle," he says, and finds another bottle, and offers it to K. "Here," he says, and he looks him over. "This is going to be like one of your dreams," he says, as he kneels and draws a circle on the floor. "But worse."
“You haven’t seen the worst of my shit.” He takes the bottle. Kavinsky doesn’t think grief will just die. He also doesn’t think this will be the end of it, unless Nick plans on ripping the feeling out of him entirely, along with the memories.
“What’s it going to do? Like yeah eat my grief but what the fuck does that mean?”
"It means we're doing ritual magic I've never done before," he says, but he doesn't seem deterred. "It means that it'll make you numb when you sleep." he adds, and he sits down across from Kavinsky, his legs crossed in front of him. "Are you ready?"
Kavinsky hesitates. "Every time I sleep?" he asks, watching Nick as he sits. He's tense, like he's ready to bolt from the circle if he doesn't like the answer he gets. "Or just tonight?"
Kavinsky doesn't know what going to sleep numb will feel like. Not the kind of numb induced by a spell like this. He's done it with drugs plenty of times but those never affected his dreaming. Not in a real way.
He nods, easily. "Just tonight, then," he says, and sets things out, then takes the bottle and starts the spell. "It's going to hurt," he says, "so don't freak out."
It takes a while; the magic of it isn't easy, but soon K should start to feel something. The grief comes first, spiraling out of K's mouth, like he's throwing up, but the thick black sludge goes right into the bottle. Nick's fingers come to catch K's wrists, and then he calls out the anger.
This is the part that hurts, because rage is a flame, and it burns out of any place it can, screaming with the noise that K's been keeping in. He clutches his wrists. "Don't stop. Don't let go."
Not much does anymore, but definitely not pain. He gags on the grief as it leaves him, eyes watering from the effort but it goes into the bottle just like that. Nick's hands are gripping his wrists and the sound the anger makes is the same sound the dragon made: the same ravenous scream. His anger is a hungry thing, all-consuming, burning like the sun. Somewhere in it all might be Kavinsky's scream, too.
He clutches Nick, rides out the pain because pain is real when nothing else is.
Nick watches this for a long moment, and he changes his hands, speaks in fast, strict Latin, and the rage, furious and red, goes right into the bottle.
Nick reaches over and stoppers it with his hand. "Hey," he says, and twirls it in his hand. There is a solution and it fizzles. "When you're ready to feel again, drink this."
Kavinsky just kind of stays where he is for a minute, breathing and staring at nothing. He looks wrung out. Anger and grief make up such a big part of him - especially anger. Slowly he lifts his dark gaze to the bottle Nick is holding and he nods.
"Thanks," he says, not sure what else to say to something like that. His dark eyes meet Nick's and he leans forward to kiss him.
He takes his face and kisses him, gently. He's not normally one for getting rid of these kinds of emotions, but he knows that mortals don't always have easy ways of managing this kind of thing.
He kisses him again. "I'm right here," he says, dark eyed and genuine.
Kavinsky has plenty of ways to manage. Nick's seen some of them. He moves closer, straddles Nick where he sits and pulls him into another kiss. His anger is all bottled up outside of him and so it's not venom he feels when Nick looks at him like that. It hurts, though. A different kind of grief.
Nick's here, but for how fucking long? Kavinsky bumps their foreheads together.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "Gotta make sure some dumb mortal doesn't fling himself out a window, right? Dramatic shit."
"You're not some dumb mortal," Nick says, and tugs him into his lap and kisses him again, licking into his mouth. "Come on, let me fuck you," he says, softly. "You like it," he adds.
He slides into Nick's lap and slides his arms around his neck. A little grin quirks his mouth. "Yeah, I do."
God, how long has it been? Months. Too fucking long. Kavinsky almost doesn't trust that it's going to happen and he leans closer to kiss Nick again. He's felt shut out for so fucking long.
There's some fleeting part of him that wants to remind Nick all he has to do is ask. That's too much, he knows. He'd balk at it, too. If it was him, he'd find a way to steal whatever it is he wanted. And maybe he isn't enough to ask for.
But he can have this now. He can take as much as Nick will give him and swallow it all to hold onto. Because Kavinsky is greedy, and he can be cruel, and all he cares about is the way Nick's fingers feel in his hair and how he tastes in every kiss.
"I missed you," he whispers, and tugs him into his lap, closer, and kisses him again, open mouthed and pretty. He pulls at his shirt, at Kavinksy's, like they are virgins and he wants more of him.
Kavinsky laughs, delirious with wanting and yes, needy. He straddles Nick’s lap, getting as close as he can as they kiss.. “I’m needy? You’re the one about to fuck up my wardrobe.”
He grins and pulls back enough to strip off his shirt, tossing it somewhere out of reach.
"You can dream another one," he says, opening his mouth for another kiss, and pushing him back so that he's on the floor and Nick is between his legs.
He hopes - really, he does - that Kavinsky gets out of his contract. That they can go back to this, without Nick feeling strange and displeased about it. That they can return to fucking like this and letting it real.
He leans down to bite at his throat though, leaving marks. Let the asshole know.
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"What do you want to do?"
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None of it will accomplish anything but it doesn't matter. Everything inside him feels fit to burst and it has to get out somehow. The dragon helped, but it isn't enough. He needs to explode.
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He lets Nick pull him up. He's seen Nick work spells before, but somehow ritual magic seems different. Sounds different.
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He looks around and finds things; odds and ends of life, underwear, pills, an empty bottle of beer. "We're going to create a beast out of your anger to eat your grief. So you can get some sleep, after we fuck."
So. Lots of reasons.
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Nick has his attention once he mentions fucking.
"What do we have to do?"
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He knows that K isn't scared, though.
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“What’s it going to do? Like yeah eat my grief but what the fuck does that mean?”
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Kavinsky doesn't know what going to sleep numb will feel like. Not the kind of numb induced by a spell like this. He's done it with drugs plenty of times but those never affected his dreaming. Not in a real way.
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It takes a while; the magic of it isn't easy, but soon K should start to feel something. The grief comes first, spiraling out of K's mouth, like he's throwing up, but the thick black sludge goes right into the bottle. Nick's fingers come to catch K's wrists, and then he calls out the anger.
This is the part that hurts, because rage is a flame, and it burns out of any place it can, screaming with the noise that K's been keeping in. He clutches his wrists. "Don't stop. Don't let go."
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Not much does anymore, but definitely not pain. He gags on the grief as it leaves him, eyes watering from the effort but it goes into the bottle just like that. Nick's hands are gripping his wrists and the sound the anger makes is the same sound the dragon made: the same ravenous scream. His anger is a hungry thing, all-consuming, burning like the sun. Somewhere in it all might be Kavinsky's scream, too.
He clutches Nick, rides out the pain because pain is real when nothing else is.
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Nick reaches over and stoppers it with his hand. "Hey," he says, and twirls it in his hand. There is a solution and it fizzles. "When you're ready to feel again, drink this."
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"Thanks," he says, not sure what else to say to something like that. His dark eyes meet Nick's and he leans forward to kiss him.
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He kisses him again. "I'm right here," he says, dark eyed and genuine.
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Nick's here, but for how fucking long? Kavinsky bumps their foreheads together.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "Gotta make sure some dumb mortal doesn't fling himself out a window, right? Dramatic shit."
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He knows it's true.
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God, how long has it been? Months. Too fucking long. Kavinsky almost doesn't trust that it's going to happen and he leans closer to kiss Nick again. He's felt shut out for so fucking long.
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He might as well be a Blackwood.
But he kisses him and tangles his hands in his hair. "I'll fuck you, even if I don't like that you can't come."
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But he can have this now. He can take as much as Nick will give him and swallow it all to hold onto. Because Kavinsky is greedy, and he can be cruel, and all he cares about is the way Nick's fingers feel in his hair and how he tastes in every kiss.
"Fuck, I missed you," he breathes between them.
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"Satan, you're needy."
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He grins and pulls back enough to strip off his shirt, tossing it somewhere out of reach.
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He hopes - really, he does - that Kavinsky gets out of his contract. That they can go back to this, without Nick feeling strange and displeased about it. That they can return to fucking like this and letting it real.
He leans down to bite at his throat though, leaving marks. Let the asshole know.
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